


The Ground Beneath My Feet

by Chiclet



Category: City of Heroes
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-04 00:38:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13352823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiclet/pseuds/Chiclet
Summary: Fiction for Agni Tara, my fire/thermal corruptor in City of Heroes(Villains), the weird and strange and lunatic thing that she was.





	1. Prey

I do not understand why they always think I am prey.

I am not.

Perhaps it is that I am one and they are many. Maybe it is they think I do not see them, although I do. Kirlian tendrils waver in the darkness, creeping closer to the light. Sometimes I think they do not see me at all, at least not as I see them. Not that it matters. Perhaps they only believe that I am stupid. 

I am not that either.

It seems I am always cold, especially when night crawls up from the sea and swallows the streets. It is hard sometimes to find a place where I can be both warm and safe. So many corners are so jealously guarded; by men, by dogs, by wire fences that don't care anything for what I need. A shelter that does not mean stupid men who think they can take whatever they can find.

Sometimes I remember that it was not always this way. Sometimes there is a voice and a face and, I think, wallpaper that I helped to choose. I remember that it was pink and that it had unicorns with pretty horns. It makes me upset though and sometimes only fire chases it away.

What do I care about unicorns, pink or otherwise? There is only warmth and heat and flame here, to hold back the cold.

I have told myself that I am nothing close to stupid but tonight I think perhaps that I have made a mistake. Were they here before this, dim under trash, covered by sickness? I do not know. I did not see them, that is all, in this yawning warehouse that is so much like an abandoned temple with its box altars and jetsam sacrifices.

Perhaps they were too far away for me to see. Perhaps they saw my light and crawled to it, looking for a way to survive to another day. They do that sometimes.

Not one of them is whole; I can see it in the darkness, smell it in the air. There is one that will die in hours, his aura blackshot and grim. I wonder if he knows or cares.

One chooses to stand just outside the circle of light as the rest shuffle behind my back, thinking me stupid and prey. I have made only a small fire, of rags and broken slats and discarded papers, taken from the god of this place. I am not stupid and I do not wish to attract a dog's attention, a guard's notice. Curl my hands inside the warmth and wonder how long this one will wait for courage.

"Excuse me. May I join you?"

I laugh, soundlessly.

Because there is power yet in this voice. It rolls in the words, in the command, and I am who I was asked to be.

"As you wish."

He steps forward then, grey and gaunt but still surprisingly... handsome. It is in the tilt of his head, I decide. This one used to be Somebody. He still thinks somewhere inside that he is and that is the frisson that holds me. He hunkers down across my small warmth, watching without expression as my fingers weave through the fire. Perhaps he does not notice.

"Do you have any food to share?"

"No." And I do not. The little that I have is not for sharing. Tomorrow I must find more as will this man; before the sickness eats him in retaliation. All things wish to survive even to the smallest part.

"Are you sure? I'm pretty hungry."

"I am sure." Watch him out of the corner of my eye, curious if he will attack now. Sometimes it is food they are after, sometimes it is pain. Sometimes it is other things.

"Okay," he says. Not food then. "What's your name?"

Now that is new. They have never asked my name before.

"Agni. I am Agni."

"Agni." He stretches his hands towards the light. "That's a nice name."

"Yes." Then, because he has asked me a new thing and because he has a power in his words, I offer him a little more. "What is yours?"

He smiles then and behind the exhaustion and the desperation, he is handsome. "Wilson Coates, at your service."

"Wilson Coates, I am pleased to meet you. Be warm here."

Silence descends then, a short prickle of time. Why does he wait? There is rising impatience glaring between my shoulderblades, the urge to do harm. Why? I do not know. It has never made sense but then again, I suppose it does not need to. I have no food that will save them. I have no desire to make them well. I have nothing to give them save refusal.

I have wondered sometimes if that is what they are looking for, more than anything. That they want me to say no so that they can make me say yes.

"You know," he says finally, before the tide can break upon us. "I used to be a university professor." Nod my head as if it matters. He laughs then, short and pained. "Yeah, that was me. I had a wife, a house up on the hill above this wreckage, two cars, vacations every year. Now?" He spreads those hands then, lit by my fire. "Now I don't have anything except this damned fucking jones that won't let me sleep. Are you sure you don't have any food, Agni?"

There is a shadow of thunder in his voice, a remnant of a storm he used to be. It commands reply even as it holds back the pressure inching closer behind me.

"I have no food that I can share."

"But you have food."

"Yes."

He blinks and his adam's apple bobs. "What?"

"Yes, I have food, Wilson Coates."

Anger and hope are such an odd mix. "Then hand it over. I'm fucking starving."

Sigh and reach for what I have gathered today. It is not much; barely enough for me and wasted on him. I hate men that are stupid. He is going to be dead soon enough with the things clawing in his veins. Why does he insist on eating my food?

He devours the bread in three wolf bites, destroys the remnant of cheese with its scraping of sharp mold. Offer him the two small apples which are all that remain from what I took from trees near the city walls. There are more there but it is a long walk.

He takes a bite and juice runs down his stubbled chin. "Do you have more?"

"No." Fold my arms, upset. "That is all I had."

"You're not holding out on me, are you?"

"No." He laughs, I have no idea why. He throws the last apple over my head and there is the sound of scrabbling behind me. The smile on his face is not very handsome at all.

"Agni, Agni," he says. He reaches out one hand as if to touch my face. I flinch. I do not think I should like him to be any closer than he is. "If you don't have any more food, what are you going to feed us with?"

There is a heartbeat, no more. Silence at my back. Then the wave breaks.

____

There was a time, when I was raw and new, when I did not understand what I was to do.

I cried because there was a woman, only she had blood streaming from eyes, nose, ears and that made me upset. I did not like it at all, it was not right. There are times when I think that I knew her. There are times when I am sure I do not.

There was a voice that told me to be, named me, bid me rise and follow. Triumph, I think. Exultation. There was only green fire and red haze and the broken woman on the ground caught in a mess of lighted lines.

The terrible voice that I could not ignore.

There was time when I do not think I thought at all. It is all jigsawed inside me, like glass that no longer fits its frame. If he had a name, I do not know it. He was only the Mage that held me and bid me destroy that which displeased him. I sat at his feet while he told me of all the things he would have me be, whispered to me to remember all that I was. Earth and fire and flame, green for life, red for death, incarnate.

I learned well and fast, because I discovered that I hated cages. I forgot that which I could not understand, pink and broken and pretty. And I grew strong enough then to suit, and I followed as I was told. I did all that I was told.

And nothing more.

When did I learn this, my best lesson? I do not know. I should like to think I always knew but it is not for me to say. With the first small defiance, unnoticed perhaps. The first acknowledgement that the chains of geas were not as tight as he would have had them be. I wonder sometimes if he made a mistake, or if perhaps I am just stronger with each day I grow.

Yet if I had to choose a place and a time, it would have it be when I cracked the pillars, brought the roof down on his head and he broke, broke like the woman on the ground that sometimes I think I should know and there was blood on his face, in his eyes as he died.

He bid me destroy. It is not my fault that he could not get out of the way fast enough.

___

I hate having to run in darkness. There are so many things that one cannot see until one is scrambling over them, hurting flesh. Only life is alive to be seen.

The fire roars halfway to the sky and that makes me angry; that I must leave the sweet, vindictive warmth behind. It is always so difficult to find a new place to be left alone when the world is angry and shouting and there are flashing lights that are all but impossible to avoid.

I run and walk and run again until the sun has chased all the animals away. I have found that if the light is high enough, one can sleep on grass, that there is enough warmth for it. The city guards mind the parks and walkways but there are spaces near enough to the walls where there is only grass and sunshine. It is not comfortable but it suffices.

I do not like it though, to sleep so near the woods. Mages live there.


	2. Fear

It is much too late to be on the streets.

It is Ann's fault, I decide. She would not hurry up and confess her sins of omission and commission and make Glory happy with her. He was still not happy when I left them but he was less upset than before, I think although it is hard to tell sometimes with Glorious.

She should have understood faster though. It is her fault that it is later than I would like and it is darker than I would like and the shadows are deeper than I would like. Haven is a very long way from Hell Forge.

Why is the answering of questions not as easy for others? One answers or one refuses if one is bored. Why should one answer only a little, so that others keep having to ask, doling out more and more as if to portion it is to make it sweeter? Some lies and some truth and none of it at all helpful until the end.

It only makes it late and I hate the darkness, almost as much as I hate the cold.

"Well hey, sugar. Going to a party? Or just want one?"

I also hate shadows that move, twist into bodies, into men that should be sleeping and are not. Do they not know that I am trying to get to the place where I am supposed to be? Glory's instruction was emphatic and has not yet faded enough that I can ignore it. Three days, perhaps four and I will be free of it. He will have forgotten by then, assuming that I still follow. I have watched the money, I have balanced the numbers against the compulsion. They should be ended at the same time.

"I am not your sugar."

Slide away, slip to the side but there are more, glowing brighter and brighter. They have not blocked the street but they are trying to be too close.

"C'mon baby, you know you wanna be. You sure look like a nun with an appetite. How much?"

Frown and stop, hesitate. "How much, what?"

"How much, whore?"

Flex my fingers. That is a word I have learned, hard and fast and full of pain. I am not a whore. I do not care to be called that.

"No."

There is laughter then, ugly.

"You don't have much of a choice, do you? C'mon sugar, give a little. We'll make it good for you, I promise."

He does not mean it. It is a lie... of protection? No, they do not wish to protect me from anything, nor do they concern themselves with what I want. A lie, I decide, of what Ann would call spite. I do not like them already.

"I am not good for you. Leave me alone."

"Come here, baby. Beg us nice."

He tries. His voice is strong, he reaches with it for me, poised as I am. He knows what he wants.

But there is a reason I follow Glory and a reason I like him best.

"No."

"Too bad." He does not seem upset, which is odd. His fingers flex a little. "But then again, I've always liked it when they scream."

He starts to walk forward, the brighter shadows moving behind him.

_____

I wonder sometimes why it is that they always seem to think that what they see is all that I am.

He bleeds. I have torn his back apart, down to the bone, and he lies in a pool of his own twisted hurt, gasping, his eyes blind to the stars. Some ran, some died. Only this one remains alive although perhaps not for much longer.

Curiosity moves me. Straddle his hips and sink my fingers into his hair, shake him gently. 

"Wake up."

He makes a sound, sightless. Shake him harder.

"I said wake up."

Nothing. He is too far gone. I remember that Glory made a sound of irritation with Ann, so I practice it, flicking my tongue across my teeth. Yes, like that. That is what I feel.

Look down at this man who dies. Blink my eyes open-shut and watch as the life pours away in a chaotic tide. The color tangles and eddies around my knees as if they are stones in a river of gold.

Put my hands on his face, cup his jaw. He is not very lovely at all, this man. 

Life is not a word. Life is not a simple drawing of breath after breath until one cannot find the strength for it. Life wills itself to be. Life wishes frantically to be. It is the easiest thing in the world.

Green fire flares, coats, slicks itself into his skin. Forces itself into places that have tried to let go and he makes a noise that high, higher, scared. His chest heaves. His fingers scrabble weakly at my legs.

"Are you awake now?"

Cock my head and look at him. Really, very unlovely. I think he would be a terrible kisser.

"Pl..please. Please God, I'm sorry! Please!"

Smooth a hand across his hair. I think that it supposed to be comforting. I remember that it is comforting. He just flinches.

"I know you are sorry. It is okay. Can you talk to me now?"

One eye rolls in its socket. "T.. talk. Yes."

"Good. Why did you let that other one lie for you?"

"What?"

Shake him by the hair, settle myself harder on his legs. He mewls. I wonder if his spine still lies against the cobblestones.

"He said he would make it good for me. That was a lie."

"What?"

Really, this one is either very stupid or still too hurt to answer. Punch life into his flesh, thrust it into his heart so fast that he arches, screams. He is hard beneath me, body wanting to renew itself the only way it knows how.

He is almost whole now, the blood sticky and cold beneath us. Nothing I can do will make him more pretty though and I think wistfully of Glory. Covered in blood, raging, he is very lovely.

"Why did you let him lie for you?"

"You're fucked up, you know that? Why? Because, that's why. Sugar like you, walking the streets, looking like that? We didn't know!"

Consider this. He has not answered my question but I think perhaps I have phrased it wrong. Wind my fingers a little tighter into his hair. His hands have found my thighs.

"Are you lying to me?"

He shakes his head, swallowing beneath the stubble of his throat.

"What is your name?"

"R...Rob. Robert."

"Rob Robert. Are you lying to me?"

"No, lady, swear to any God you name, I ain't lying to you, I told you I was sorry, I swear I'll never do it again, every girl my godddamned sister..."

Move my hands to his shoulders, pin him to the ground and there is fire, heat, joy in the rush of power. He screams and bucks, the smell of charred meat chokes us both.

"Tell me your name is Glory."

Spittle flecks his lips, the sounds he makes are sharp as whistles.

"Tell me your name is Glory."

"My name is G.. Glory, fuck lady, you're fucking crazy!"

"Rob Robert. Why are you lying to me? Your name is not Glory."

He is crying now, the moisture his body needs leaking from his eyes. "I don't .. I don't... Please. Please don't hurt me."

Ah.

That is it. That is my question.

Settle back on his legs and think, turning the shape of it in my mind with pleasure. That is the answer I wanted to know, that I could not phrase well enough that Ann could answer, that Glory could understand.

This is a reason people lie. Why Ann lied, why this man let another say he was going to hurt me, why he says he is sorry now and he means it, he means it with everything he is.

His body still wants mine, oddly enough. It is interesting what pain can do.

Leave him there. He will live, I think. His friends may come back to help but then again, so might his enemies. It shall be an interesting exercise in survival, I suspect.

There is blood on my hands, on my boots, drying as I walk. Oddly enough, no one else bothers me although it is still a long way to Haven.

I wonder what other restaurants there are that I can order from. I am getting very tired of masala.


	3. Surprise

It is curious how much people discard without thought.

Everything has a value, everything has a use. I should think that people ought to take better care of the things they hold, no matter how quickly it leaves their hands.

Still, it is helpful that so much is left behind.

High overhead the seagulls continue to cry the morning open; protesting or celebrating, it is hard to tell. The docks are among the best places to scavenge. I think it is because the activity is the most frantic here, with men and noise, the beginning and ending of ships, the many and varied bundles that shuttle from this place to that. It is perhaps inevitable that things are left to fall unnoticed.

In the shadows of stacked barrels, something winks. Slide over to look, curious. Crouching down on my heels reveals a welter of glass, broken bottles perhaps or a defective buoy. Whatever it was, it was poorly made, thick and ugly even in pieces. It is the wrong color anyways.

Stir the mess with a finger though, turning over what remains. The remnant of a label flashes up, red as the wine that reeks from the casks nearby.

Fish it out with pleasure to turn it over in my hand. It is beautiful. Suck a cut finger, tasting the salt that matches the tang of the air. This will do as well.

Transfer the rescued flotsam to my belt and the makeshift pouch I have made from a square of folded cloth. The awkward weight jounces against my leg as I stand and stretch again. I have been crouched in too many places this morning, in and out and down and around and all of it dodging those into who's places I steal. Roll my shoulders to ease the strain.

_Agni._

What? Startle, just a little. He is never awake this early, not once before this. My fingers touch without thought to the button pinned to the inside of my shoulder strap, this illicit device nestled where I cannot forget it, never to forget it.

"Glory. You are awake."

His voice returns immediately, solid as rock even over the sound of others closer, the voices of the waves.

_That's pretty obvious. Where are you?_

"By the water." Look down at the wine shadows but there is nothing else. Slip down the uneven boards, delicate and light. There is a bundle of discarded tarpaulin, a tangle of ropes, rusted chain. There may be something there I can take.

_We're on a damned island, pretty-eyes. Everything is 'by the water'. Never mind. What are you doing?_

"I am searching, Glorious." The tarpaulin yields a pair of boots, attached then to a resting man. He glares at me out of creased eyes as I move cautiously away. "I am down on the docks."

 _Like that helps. How many docks on this island?_ There is a moment of gathering silence. _I'd ask what you're searching for but quite frankly if I have to be up this early I'd like to accomplish something before dinner._ His voice is relaxed, amused. _Come here._

A faded poster pinned to a weathered door catch my eye. A girl danced, once upon a time, and her dress was red. Drift towards it. "Go away, Glory. I am busy."

 _Did I stutter? I didn't ask if you were busy. I said,_ come here _._

If there is amusement, it is overlaid on arrogance. The choke of it pulls me up with a snarl. Today he does not care that I wish to continue what I am doing. Today he has other things for us to do that are more important. I am, after all, only the one who follows.

"As you wish. I come." What else is there to be said? Nothing. He knows this much of who I am, asked and given and reaffirmed. And I have already turned in automatic compliance as muscles stretch into purposeful motion. The man on the ground does not even have a chance to flinch as I jump over his legs.

I run. Flash through the streets as straight as I may, following the silence that pulls me after his wish. I think I need to find another, and soon. He is the strongest and each call he lays upon me binds me tighter although I think he knows it not. I am not ready to be captive again entirely; not until I know with certainty that he can give me what I need.

I find it difficult to contemplate his destruction though.

He sits on a low crumbled wall, one foot swinging. He is eating something with one hand even as I fling myself panting at his feet. The compulsion eases with its usual suddenness.

The sun strikes his hair, making it a glory in itself. No angel though and somewhere a part of me is comforted by that. Have I met an angel then? I do not remember. I should think they look nothing like him though. His life burns uninterrupted.

"Took you long enough." He smiles down at me without censure though. "I was about to send out a search party."

Draw deep easy breaths, not even winded. "Why? I was not lost."

Something falls away from his face then, even as something moves through his eyes. Sadness? No. He has nothing to be sad about. I am here, am I not?

"No, I suppose you weren't. Are you ready then, pretty-eyes?" He hops down from the ancient stone, tosses the rind of a fruit away. He dusts his hands. "I've got something that needs to be taken care of before the morning gets any later. Some people never seem to learn their lessons." There is an echo in his voice of the man he might grow up to become.

"No."

"No?" One pale brow arches. "Why not?"

"I have to give you my present first. I cannot fight with it."

He blinks. "You... have to give me a present." The other uncertain eyebrow crawls up to meet its brother. I have seen Glory with many expressions but not this one. Laugh, silently. I have managed to surprise him totally and I have not done that before. I think I should like this. "Dare I ask?"

"You may dare." Settle on my heels and smile up at him. He makes that sound against his teeth but it sounds like a chuckle.

"Okay, I'll bite. What kind of present?" He frowns then, suspicious I think. "I am not going to be mad at you afterwards, am I?"

"I should not think so." Something occurs, a sing song of a memory. "Open your hands and close your eyes and you will find a big surprise."

His expression cannot settle to anything, but there is laughter certainly. His blue eyes are at war with something. "I am going to regret this, I just know it." But he does. His eyes shutter and he extends his hands, palm up and cupped. Peer at his face but he is truly not looking.

Tug the stained cloth from my waist and spread it into its original square. The jumbled collection is smaller than I wanted it to be but still, it will suffice. Pick the ragged pieces up and transfer them one at a time. Place the glass on top at the last because I should not want the edges to cut him. I could heal it instantly but I do not wish this present to hurt.

Step back and put my hands behind my back. Nibble my lip with sudden worry.

"Can I open my eyes now?" Curious warmth.

"Yes."

He looks then. A smile tugs at his mouth.

The red feather is the largest, more than the span of a single hand. I found also a twist of ribbon, frayed at the edges but still shiny with sparkles in the center. A pretty girl somewhere cries for it. A number of smooth stones, water worn and the broken facets of a taillight. Paper and fabric, a sliver of painted wood. An enameled bead. The glass I found at the last.

"Agni." He turns his smile then to me, confused. "Thank you. It's a lovely present. But .. uh..."

"My hair."

"What?"

"The color of my hair, Vanity. You wanted to know."

He looks at his hands then, dripping with everything the color of blood, of rubies, of the purest fire in my dreams. And he laughs, with the morning sun in his hair and lighting his eyes. If there was sadness, it is gone.

"Uh, yeah. I guess I did, didn't I? Thank you, pretty-eyes." He spills his hands into a pocket but reserves the feather, running it absently through his fingers.

"You can throw them away, Glory," I say. "They are not for keeping. They had only the right color, nothing else."

"No, you're supposed to keep presents." He steps closer and fusses with my headdress, tucking the feather into the twist of metal wire. "There." He inspects it critically then brushes my cheek with his knuckles as I told him I liked. "Are you ready now?"

"Yes."

"Well then." He steps back but I think I like the way his eyes look. I will have to think of things to surprise him with more.

"Let's go."


	4. Doors

If one climbs high enough, one will find a door.

It is very small. A child of a door, crouched behind stairs as if hiding. Perhaps it was placed there once, to grow in solitude, but the shadows choked it beyond recovery. It is not easy to find. There is no welcome here with a promise of treasure to be discovered. It is dirty and tiny and all but forgotten by everything around it.

Yet it has something that the other doors do not, here in the highest of places that one is tolerated quietly to reach.

It opens.

Behind this door is a space, beyond the space is a path. One can walk between walls then as path becomes a journey in darkness. Spiders rule here.

Cloth yields then, not a wall but a woven deception. Behind that one can find a single corridor with a double hand of rooms. They are just as silent as the ones behind but there is dust piled as high as snow in the corners. Ghostly shrouds hold rigid guard. Mirrors reflect blankness, glasses await hands to pick them up. Books wait in anguish for eyes to read.

In the farthest room one can find a window. Its sill is made of stone, its arch reaches high above all but the tallest head. The leaded panes do not wish to awake from slumber, but they will when asked. Far below the sea crawls to the foot of the rocks. The air smells of salt. The color of the sky is a reminder the summer is soon to come.

From this room, from this window, one can see many things.

One can see a place of green far below where one did not realise it existed at all.

_________

If I had known they locked the doors at night, I do not know what I would have done.

By the time I discovered it though, finally bored with sleeping in a place that is soft and warm enough to make one forget caution, it was too late.  _ Be polite Agni. Do not be rude, Agni.  _ I do not think burning the door from its hinges would make anybody happy with me. It is most certainly not polite.

Still, if one cannot explore in the nervous darkness, there is enough daylight to please. There is time in the afternoons where nothing is scheduled; when some study, when some take the boats to other islands, when some simply look at each other and disappear. I tried following once but it is impossible to track someone who is there one moment and then gone. I decided I was not that curious. After all, if they fail to return it is not as if I should miss them.

So, I explore then in the lazy sunshine. Bloodvine is a large place, there is much to see. Each floor yields something interesting, each outthrust wing contains more corners than seem possible for a building that wishes to remain standing. I like to wear my blue jacket as I wander, for while I do not look as good as Meriwether, I look at least as pretty as Ann. Prettier perhaps because I think I laugh more. Blue goes very well with laughter.

It is also amusing to wear because it says  _ I am one of you.  _ Vanity has not given me his opinion on it yet, although he sometimes look as though he might. I suppose I shall ask him why his expression is sometimes like he swallowed a lemon.

This is how the days have passed and so have the weeks. And it was more for boredom than anything else that I found the small door and the silent room and then at last the stone window.

From the window I saw a garden.

As I run my fingertips along the wall, I wonder where this door is. From above it seemed so very clear; the verdant green, the strange tip and flash of red. Yet from the ground I cannot see anything at all. There is the kitchen and then the paved courtyard where trucks come and go. There is the garden where things are grown to eat. There is the building where things are mended and repaired and built and broken. There is another place whose purpose I do not understand but the smells are not very nice.

It is only by counting silent footsteps that I can tell where the secret is. This place and that place seem like they should meet but they do not. This corner and that corner seem that they should align but they do not.

So this is the where I saw it, then. But which way in?

This is much more interesting than disappearing people.

 


	5. To Forget To Remember

She has explored all that she can reach. 

The stone walls of the secret are more than twice as high as her head, the brick and mortar unnervingly strong at the joins. She has traced out the boundaries as best she can, ducking in and out of buildings, silently counting her footsteps over and over so there can be no mistake. It is long, not wider than two men standing with arms outstretched and clever. So very, very clever. 

She would never have suspected it was there at all, save for the betraying flash of green from a place she should not have found. 

From the blurred distance of height it seems only a garden. There is no gate that she can find although that seems more oversight than warning. She has discovered there are many things in this place that have no obvious access; many doors that seem open and inviting are not to be crossed.  

So it is for curiosity more than anything that she returns here, running her fingertips along the stretch of it and wondering how one enters. In some corner of her mind she feels that it would be nice to have a place where she could not be easily found; where the sun might be hot at the height of day with the walls then created to hold her safe in suspension. 

She will clear something in the center perhaps, brush away the litter and leaf. She could bring things from her room here once she finds the way inside. A blanket, a book of pictures from the library. She laughs silently as she places both hands to the slightly cool stone, letting the rough surface abrade her skin. She leans in to put her cheek to the silent barrier. Perhaps others will look and not find and she will be one of the disappearing people too. The thought gives her a certain portion of amusement. Perhaps she will tell Glory.. but no. It is not an important secret but it should be hers. 

She looks up, judging. Perhaps... she could climb? She hooks her fingers into the slim ledges of the brick shapes and considers it. It is tall but the fall should not hurt so much if she misjudges. Once on the other side perhaps the door will be more obvious. 

She looks to the side but this stretch of walkway is empty save for her. She will climb and see what is to be seen. 

She tenses young muscle and begins to reach. 

________ 

 "You're out of your mind. If you think that stupid ass kicker has what it takes, you've been smoking too much." 

"Yeah? You're talking but all I'm hearing is hot air. I got three that says they go to four."  

The conversation swirls. She sticks her fork in the sweet potato chunks and tries to decide if she is still hungry or not. Maybe. She eats another wedge just in case. The meat disappeared first and the warm bread. The remnants of the salad decorate the edges of her plate; baby lettuce, red arugula, the deep green of romaine. The tang of the dressing still tickles her tongue. 

Green. Red. The curly edges tease her memory.

She frowns and bends her head to the plate.

She remembers then, a patchwork. The brick, the rough seams. The glare of blue as she looked up. Setting her foot to the wall, thinking... nothing.

She does not remember climbing. She does not remember anything except the feel of her hand to the cool stone.

Her dark eyes whirl and the inner eyelids flicker down so that for a moment the world is made solid, reworked in gold filigree. A spell then? A thing of mages here in the heart of this school? Fear stirs at the thought but underneath is the deeper well of curiosity.

Warning, then? Or challenge?

  
  
  
  



	6. Hide & Seek

"Let's play a game."

She looked up from where she was sitting crosslegged on a desk. Drix was posed against the wall but even as she watched he shoved himself away, impatience in the sleek lines of the movement. She tracked him silently as he stalked around the empty classroom. The fingers of one hand trailed over the backs of the chairs he passed. 

It was lunch or at least that was the excuse. She'd gone to the dining hall and brought the things she wanted to eat here, to the place where history was taught because she could see green outside and the distant silver of water blue. She would have eaten outside if she'd dared but she was too cautious to risk being wrong.

Things had changed and Glory no longer answered questions as he had before. She saw him only in class now, his face remote and tight. When he left to fight he was often in the spider uniform and that did not please her at all. She had earned a pass and gone to the place where others often went, trying to understand. She had expected only to listen but he had come then in his dark and power and she had tried to question. He had been curt, although not unkind. He had refused to take off the helmet and that had scared her more than his words.

The rules had changed and she had not figured where they had shifted. It was better to be small, better to be silent, better to be a mouse and unnoticed. Better to eat alone, away from the place where new currents swirled in the talking, where whispers cut channels through this new world.

Today Drix had followed her. She had not minded and they had eaten their lunch as he talked about his clothes, his trips, his sister. He was often good company, mercurial and sharp and because she did not understand him at all, he often suited her mood. Drix was unknown but he had never hurt her. He had never scared her.

She continued to watch then as he made the circuit of the room, the polished edges of his nails caressing the windowsills now.  _ Snick. Snick _ . The sound was as carefully light as the sunlight outside.

"What kind of game?"  Truth was, there were some games she wasn't interested in playing right now. If he chose one of those, she decided she would just get angry about it. He didn't sound like he wanted to fight so if she began, he would leave her alone in frustration.  Anger made people careless.

"Any game. I need distraction. I'm bored of guns and uniforms." Bite in the tone, a frizzle of something sad beneath it. "Black, black, red and black. And more black. It is so not my best color." His ears twitched beneath his cap, pulling back. He stopped by the last window and looked out.

She pursed her lips and considered it, staring at the back of his neck. A game. They had no dice, no cards.  Other games were forbidden and the last time they had played, they had gone to the hidden club with the lights and noise. Drix had explained rules that were not rules.  "We are not allowed to leave right now," she said, as if he would understand.

"Tell me about it, sweetheart." If he thought it a strange reply, he said nothing. "That's the problem. Let's play here. Come on Agni, don't be a stick in the mud. Let's  _ do _ something."

She stood then, sliding down to her feet. "I am not a stick." Drix decided the shape of her body underneath the plain pants and blazer agreed with that assessment. Her strange star-filled eyes whirled a little faster with rising interest. She twisted the cloth around her hair tighter at the back, knotting it. "Choose a game and I will follow."

Drix looked out the long window as if inspecting the slope. "Follow? Okay," he said, turning back. His teeth flashed with inspiration. "Hide and seek."

Her dark face spread into a smile in answer. Yes. She knew that game and there was no fear in it. "I like that game. Shall we cheat then, or not?"

"Oh, yes," said Drix. "Let's cheat."

_______

 

She had counted to one hundred just like he'd told her to, face hidden behind her hands. She had thought about cheating right away but it had not taken very long and besides, it would be very boring to find him immediately. So she'd counted slowly enough to suit and now she was free.

Agni smiled, her eyes gleaming as she dodged around corners. Where was he? Drix, Drix, where would he hide? A locker? She rattled a few as she passed but most were shut tight and unhappy with her interest. A classroom? She pulled open doors, crouched down to see under the teacher's desks. A closet? There were not many of those. How far could one run during a count of a hundred?

"Hey, watch it!"

She said something that she hoped sounded polite and maybe even like an apology and edged around the blue coats. Lunch hour must be ending, there were more students in the hallway suddenly. Warm bodies forced her to the wall and she stood for a moment, stymied. How would she find him now?

Agni narrowed her eyes and then whirled around. Yes, that is how she'd find him! Stupid Agni. She should have thought of it before. She blinked her dark eyes, dropping the delicate inner eyelids to wash the world filigree gold. Not people anymore then, only motion and life in a skirling stream of fire. Drix could hide wherever he liked but he would burn uninterrupted in her sight and she would find him.

It wasn't even cheating, not really.

Back through all the classrooms she'd already tried and in the fourth one, she saw the green roil low to the ground, still and quiet. She blinked her vision open-shut and this time saw the tousled head of russet hair and furry ear-tips sticking up over the side of a desk. She ran, eyes like stars and triumphant. "I see you! I see you, Drix!"

"No!" laughed Drix, scrambling up. He jumped to the top of the desk, crouching for a heartbeat. Then impulsively he sprung over her head in a telekinetic boost. His voice changed tone as he sped past her, out the door. "You have to tag me first! Catch me! You have to catch me!" He scampered down the hall, dodging. She ran after, skipping around the curse words and the occasional potted plant that moved to hinder pursuit.

"Stop cheating now!" she yelled. "Drix, do not!"

"I'm going to make it home free!" he crowed in reply, skidding around a corner. She slid after him and suddenly pulled up short. A yelp died unsaid on her tongue.

Impossibly tall and red, a glowing skeleton of a figure blocked the way forward. The Fortunata's uniform seemed to absorb the light around her like blood, her high mask impervious to emotion. Drix had frozen and she could smell the sudden, sticky fear under the blue cloth of his shoulder.

Agni stepped back involuntarily, uneasy. As if that was enough, Drix stepped back too. It broke the tableau.

"A psi talent. Toviel Drixxen." She extended one gloved hand and took him, hard, by one thin shoulder. "You will come with me."

Agni hesitated, and lost. She found herself only watching as he was drawn away by that implacable color. He looked back once and the lines of his mouth said  _ fear _ .

The line of his spine as he disappeared from sight said  _ condemned _ .


	7. Oracle

She should have been surprised but perhaps she wasn't. In the filtered light of the upstairs lounge, the paleness of Agni's clothing flared like a dim candle, white on white on gold. The slim girl was tucked into the corner she seemed to prefer, swinging one foot from her stool in an attitude of boredom. Ann never knew if Agni sat there because it afforded a decent view of incoming people, something that she might personally have considered, or if it was just that Agni knew how well she stood out against the darker woods of the bar. 

Ann found herself smiling. Agni definitely had her own version of conceit yet trying to predict what spun through her strange friend's mind was like trying to predict the weather. One day it seemed as obvious as summer sunshine and the next as uncertain as a hurricane.

She slid onto the stool next to her friend with anticipation though, catching the bartender's eye with a raised finger. Agni turned her head with a frown at the intrusion but it brightened into immediate laughter as she registered who it was. Agni leaned forward and one brown cheek touched the soft blue.

"Allo, pretty Ann."

Just why had Agni taken on the same accent of greeting as faraway Shasimarre anyways? Ann brushed her cheek in return greeting. "Allo, Agni." Ritual complete, Agni settled back on her seat and pulled a leg up, the pinpoint stars in her eyes flaring.

"Tell me why are you here."  

Ann had realised a long time ago that abruptness from the other girl did not betoken anger or irritation. If Agni wanted to know something she usually just asked. She took a moment to beckon the bartender over, glancing around idly. They seemed to be the only ones in the place today, not terribly unusual for the middle of the afternoon. Zero's Dimension didn't really start to move until the evenings.

"I wished for a drink."

"They serve them here if one asks." Typical of Agni to give a literal statement.

'Yes, and to do so is far more effective than mere wishing." She put words into more words, placing a soft request for a strawberry daquiri. Agni chose to fuss with a fold of cloth that had fallen forward from the wrap around her head, adjusting it to her satisfaction before flipping it back over a shoulder. No drink sat in front of her and the bartender didn't ask. Ann found herself smiling, imagining that no doubt extremely bizarre exchange.

"Did you sleep well last night?"

Ann raised an eyebrow but replied easily enough. "I slept soundly, for which I am grateful." Since when did Agni care about her sleeping habits?

"I am acknowledging you. You will tell me if I am doing this incorrectly."

Ann smiled then with understanding. So the explanation of the other day on the nature of being polite was still being worked on. She nodded her head.

"You have not only acknowledged, but also shown interest."

Agni returned the smile with her fox face, obviously pleased with herself to go by the motion in her starfield eyes. "Good. I should like to show you interest." The other girl seemed to hesitate for a moment as if trying to decide between several courses of action. Ann waited as Agni held up a slim forefinger. "Do not feel compelled to cry though; I do not think it is necessary."

Ann laughed, the sound low in the empty bar. The bartender chose that moment to return with the ordered daquiri, the sides frosted with cold. Ann thanked him and swirled the straw though the ice. "And you, Agni? Did you sleep well?" Might as well continue the lesson, the give and take of interest in the affairs of others.

Her friend shrugged, a brown shoulder slipping to the side. "One supposes. It is a thing one does and the school has nicer places to sleep than elsewhere. Have we been polite enough now to suit, pretty Ann?" There was no ignoring the plaintive cry in that statement.

"We have been polite enough, yes."

She could almost see the relief. "Good, because I am already tired of it. What have you done today that I might find interesting?" Agni paused again. "If you wish to cheat and make something up, that is okay."

Mischief spread across Ann's face as she thought rapidly. What would Agni like to hear? "Today I... climbed a mountain."

She was rewarded by a slow blink and a sharpening of her friend's regard. "A mountain."

"Yes, the Mountain of Twilight. At the top of the mountain, I planted a seed. The seed grew into a mighty tree." Ann took a sip of her drink. Cold, tart, tasting of fruit and sugar. "Great fire birds from Azulhanni came and made their nests in the tree." Where were the words coming from? A jumble of stories and fables swam through her mind. "I climbed the tree and took an egg from one’s nest."

The confused look on Agni's face was priceless and Ann had a moment to feel satisfied by that. Usually she was the one floundering when Agni came up with something impossible to slide into context. There was another slow blink but then she was rewarded with silent laughter as Agni brought her hands together in an odd gesture. The firestarter leaned forward, obviously intrigued.

"Did the fire bird not object to the theft?" was the curious question.

"It did. It attacked me with great ferocity." Ann took another sip and rolled the ice around her tongue.

"What did you do?"

"I encased my aggressive avian adversary in a block of solid ice." Ann snapped her fingers as if to demonstrate. Agni blinked.

"That was not very nice... or polite. But effective, I should think. What then?" Agni puffed out a breath. "Did you eat the egg?"

"No, I spoke words of power over it, and it was transformed into a magnificent fire ruby."

At that the brown skinned girl frowned, suspicion writ large on her face. Ann returned her best innocent face.

"You cannot turn an egg into a fire ruby, just like that. Everything you do takes forever and three days, including telling me what you really feel." Ann had to lower her head to her daquiri to hide the smile. No mistaking the frustration in that statement. "If you cheat, this is not well done."

"You can if you know the correct words," she replied calmly, "and speak them at the correct time and in the correct place."

Agni narrowed her eyes and braced an elbow on the top of the bar, resting her chin in the palm. She glanced sideways. "If I was to say them, pretty Ann, would I then have a fire ruby?"

"Are you at the peak of the Mountain of Twilight at midday beneath a tree with golden leaves that sparkle as if they were on fire?"

"If I was there as you were there, yes."

Something from a story she'd read once popped into her head. Puss in Boots, maybe. "You also require a tear from a stone," she pointed out.

"You said only an egg!" Agni straightened, indignation written in the lines of her body. "Where does this tear come from?"

She thought quickly. "I had omitted that detail in the interest of brevity."

Ann realised with amusement that the bartender had drifted back towards them, industriously polishing glasses. She wrapped her lips around the straw and drank to give herself some time. Agni made a noise of irritation against her teeth, a bad habit she'd picked up from Chase.

"You do not do well with omitting," she was informed. The drift of an older conversation moved through her mind but it was gone before she could remember. "It makes me upset. What else is required that you have forgotten? A tear, an egg, a mountain, a tree...." As Agni spoke, she drew her forefinger down the varnished surface of the bar. A twinge of smoke began to rise. Ann cast a look at the ridiculously busy bartender. Thankfully he hadn't noticed the quiet destruction. Yet, at least. She spoke then in an effort at distraction.

"A source of energy, of course, to empower the spell."

"I will bring Glory. He has a lot of energy."

Ann almost choked. She looked over but there didn't seem to be any ulterior smirking going on. No, couldn't be. It was just coincidence. She cautiously wrapped her tongue around the next sentence.

"He does. I could power many spells if I drew upon his energy." She tried not to remember the kind of spells Chase had been most interested in, but still found herself eyeing Agni with morbid fascination. "It may not please him to so provide, however."

Agni brushed that off with a flick of her fingers. "He will provide as it pleases him to do so. I will ask then. The contract is for both of us, not just for me, do you remember. His strength at my need, as I have said."  Agni inspected whatever damage she was doing to the battered and scarred wood. Ann tried not to be too curious in case her attention drew the gaze of the man who hovered just at the edge of hearing. "So. Glory is at the top of the mountain and he shall drive what is required. I steal an egg, but how does one get tears from stones? They do not cry."

Ann held up her glass as if to inspects its contents. "There is a trick to that requirement." She was rewarded by a hiss of laughter. "The tear must come  _ from  _ a stone. It need not be the stone's tear."

"Oh. Do you then cry on it then?" asked the other girl. "I do not think I have ever cried by choice," Agni offered suddenly.

Ann blinked and filed that way. The implication wasn't very nice. "I did, in fact. Though one may also make another cry upon it."

By the agitation in Agni's eyes, she was thinking furiously about this.  "Is that what you did, pretty Ann? Who did you make cry?" By the brightening points of light, Ann wasn't exactly sure she wanted to know who Agni was envisioning.

She thought about it, she really did. But considering Agni's bent for taking things exactly as said, she discarded the thought as unworthy. "I cried my own tear," she admitted.

"Oh." Agni did seem disappointed. "Well, you are good at that it seems." Ann had to grin at that. "First you got Glory wet and then me, or you tried to. I was more clever though and stayed out of the way until you were finished." Agni tossed her head back. "I did not have a handkerchief and I only like water when it is warm."

Ann poked at the bottom of her glass, the melting ice diluting the red stain of the strawberries. "My tears are cold like ice. It is the curse of the Cryomancer," she said demurely.

Agni sat back, her eyes spinning. "What else have you omitted?" Under the palm of her friend's hand, Ann saw a half complete drawing of a miniature tri-fold tree delicately burned into the wood. She cast a glance over at the employee. Still very obviously not listening.

"Let me see." Ann pretended to ponder, trying to remember what Zero's policy was on random destruction. "We have the egg of a firebird, the midday sun upon the Mountain of Twilight, reflected off leaves that burn like fire, and a tear from a stone. We know the correct words, and we have a source of energy."

"We have staked Glory to the ground. I expect he is probably upset about it."

She tried not to let her eyes widen. The mental image tried to form in her mind and she hastily banished it away. "I can not imagine that would please him, no," she managed to get out on a breath of air. Chase would be furious, she was sure.

Agni lifted the white cloth away from the back of her neck, as if cooling it before letting it settle again. It was a little bit like watching another girl flip her hair.

"That is his problem. He is necessary for this spell." Ann started to object but then didn't. Really, it wouldn't go anywhere useful. Agni continued. "Do I have a fire ruby now, as you do?"

"You summon the power, then by speaking the words, the power is shaped to the needs of the spell. The shape is applied to the egg, and the transformation occurs."

"So I win?"

"Yes, you win."

Ann found herself smiling as a smug, happy look spread over her mercurial friend's face. "I like this. What does one do with fire rubies, Ann?"

She thought for a moment. "I took mine to the Forest of Gennissi, and offered it to the Obsidian Oracle."

Agni tilted her head quizzically. "Why?"

"Well, because the Obsidian Oracle will reveal hidden truths in return for rare treasures."

"Did you need to find a truth then?"

"I did."

"Of what sort?" was the instant return.

She'd known that was coming. "I gave the ruby to the Oracle, and in return, he provided me with..."

Ann looked around the room as if checking for eavesdroppers. Agni blinked and leaned forward, her dark eyes wide. Ann closed the gap between them, edging forward on her seat to whisper conspiratorially "... the answers needed for my History assignments."

Agni reared back. "You cheated!" The pyromancer flicked her fingers, sparks flashing to momentary life.

"I did not!"

"You... you are not supposed to ask Oracles for answers for the school! I think you are supposed to discover those for yourself." There was a pause, then, "Or ask Drix, who will tell if you give him a bribe. And he is closer than an Oracle." The laughter on Agni's face was as good as gold.

"Well, perhaps I did not consult an oracle," she had to admit. "Perhaps I instead spent the afternoon perusing the internet."

"That does not sound nearly as much fun. I liked your first thought better."

"You wanted to know what interesting thing I had done. That then is my story."

Ann smiled and lifted a finger to order another daiquiri. 


	8. Invasion

She has to prove who she is before they'll let her pass the gates.

If she was generous of spirit, she'd understand. She is dirty, scratched, bloodied - all but unrecognisable as a student of this place. At the beginning of the fighting she lost the twist of cloth that confined her hair and now it streams in tangled, vicious color down her back. She is too tired to care. It has taken her hours to work her way back to the school through the screaming streets.

Black uniforms patrol the walls, there are guns held in brutally casual fingers. She complies with the request, too exhausted to argue, helpless in the face of the world turned upside down. She fumbles with fingers that don't want to work to show her barely used identification card, the laminate still crisp and sharp. Her face is inspected and she blinks instinctively, washing her vision green and gold. There is life everywhere in that switch of priorities. She would cry if she could remember how.

She knows he's not dead. And that is all she knows.

What has happened to Ann?

There are no other answers. Yet she has survived this far which is more than can be said for many and Ann is also clever, also fast. When she is catalogued and permitted inside, she starts to walk although the strength she has left seems barely adequate. Finally - safety; enough to sap will from her limbs. She trembles, holding her arms across her belly.

She follows because she must; for the first time because she wants to. She knows where he is, living still, breathing. She's never been to the infirmary before but the silky thread pulls her down the corridors, through doorways made tight with fear. She watches the floor because she cannot control anymore what she sees. The shifting vision makes balance uncertain.

Pale hair spills across the pillow, one high cheekbone thrust against bruised skin. Careless, so careless. She slides across the wall, staying out of the way of those that move with hurried efficiency. She has seen him quiet before, relaxed before, but never like this. Pressed to the wall many times but not defeated. Never defeated. His eyes are closed and that more than anything else makes her hurt.

Yesterday she would have been smug about it. Yesterday she would have taunted him that he wasn't strong enough, that the contract still stood uncomplete, that he needed her just as much as she needed him. Yesterday she would have put hands to his skin and punched power into his heart as a reminder.

Today, all she could do was run. Everything she had just to stay alive, stay hidden, to make it across the killing field as Rikti began to destroy everything they could reach. She is scraped clean with the strain of effort, her limits pushed right to the forbidden place where all that she is touches the thing that she ought to be. Everything she had and it was only barely enough.

There is a terrible taste on her tongue; fear and misery. He fell without her but she is under no illusions. If she had been here, she would have expended just as much - and fallen too.

But it hurts to see him so quiet on the bed.

There is nothing left. She has nothing left to give. There is no strength because she's used it all for herself. She cannot even touch him for the agony in her fingers.

She curls up on the bed and no one gainsays her, sliding her body against his. The most basic need, heat. Body warmth, skin comfort. She curls her burned hands between her breasts and lays her cheek on his shoulder.

She will wait. Until he wakes, until what she has done to herself mends and the power returns.

What has happened to Ann?


	9. Transgression

She hunted the slow ones, the cold ones, the blind ones. 

She breathed the water in the air, heavy and hidden, the slickness of it a hand on her brown skin. Grass steamed under her feet, beneath her curling toes. Anger had long ago turned the darkness of her gaze to gold, green for life, bright for destruction. 

She hunted mages because old fear was sweet as honey on her tongue, overriding the sting of hours. Not the strong ones, not the tall ones, not the ones carved deep in the woods where shadows framed them into the monsters of memory. 

No; angry but not stupid, never, ever stupid. She hunted the babies who practiced their arts on the sunlit rocks, not brave enough themselves to enter the trees where power could be spilled into dark loam and drawn back up again. She stalked furious and naked over the rough and scramble, pale fire in her hands. Some saw her coming but did not see to see. Those fought with the arrogance of their upraised hands, the dark drape of cloth at wrist and neck, with voices both liquid and harsh to call forth nightmares that served. 

But they were only new made and she was not. They fell. Some that ran, she chased. Others slipped into the trees and those she let go, unwilling to dare the ancient roads that existed there. Some failed entirely to understand that she was among them in the high bright places and they moved from light to darkness without any conceit at all. It was ash in her mouth as she stepped over the fallen, awkward and upset. 

Names held nothing, empty sound, empty significance. The first rules were the strongest and she knew they held because all things were measured against them. Never to say, never to speak, never to harm a hair on her head, not by word, not by deed, not by an unkind gaze. One of the first, hammered down by true anger and she did not, could not forget. 

Yet he was angry and she hunted alone, trapped. She could not have transgressed. It was not in her nature to do so yet when she thought of the words, something twisted inside and made her sick enough to want to crawl. She could not disobey. She would not disobey. She had not disobeyed. 

The feeling faded to only a taste. She raised both hands as if to answer and the air became flame and cinder, surged at the face that thought to mock her, channeled the living heart she could feel sleeping far beneath her feet. Tried once more just to be. The waterfall at her back thundered enough sound to be the scream that she thought might have come from both of them. Stupid mage, newly born, raw enough to think that words alone could stop her. 

Agni. She was Agni, only Agni, not a cat, not a child, not anything that could be named or held to task, not anything safe, not anything warm. She had warned them all, had she not? The ones she did not want to hurt. As best she could, around the oldest rule of all, she had warned them. 

Yet inescapable, the transgression. 

Jeweled fire dripped from her fingers to scorch the rock. In the heat shivered distortion, she shook back her long hair and licked her lips. The sacrificial circle in this little nest smouldered still on the ground, a perfect imprint of grey scuffed only at the edges where its master had fallen, one foot twisted. She crouched, thrust her hands into the heat to let pain wipe away the rest. How could it be? 

Did names impress themselves into flesh, work themselves into the rules? For amusement she had permitted the name so long ago she did not remember why it had made her laugh. Perhaps because he had needed a name to understand her and it had served. Now that alone on another's lips had been a threat like a knife. He had been clear. No harm, no hurt, no pain, no malice, nothing save exquisitely polite unpoliteness. 

What did it matter what she was called? She did not answer to names. She did not answer to words. How could that harm the one she had been warned away from? 

She understood though, at least enough to cause a wave of disorientation with hands holding the embers that burned flesh as fast as it healed, as conflicting compulsions fought for control in her blood. The name alone became the knife and it was hers, and she had somehow given it to another who had casually held it to Glory's throat. She had not disobeyed! But the magic did not care and she retched, trembling. 

Somehow she had become more than Agni alone. 

Far beneath the heat and the anger, she was afraid.


	10. Dream of Green

_ In the dream, the wall rises far above her head. The ivy covers everything, a barrier of poison green, shifting, whispering to itself. Each tri-lobed leaf is edged with scarlet, the serrations sharp as teeth. There is a formless dread as she stands, looking up. The leaves move without a wind to drive them. She feels small, insignificant. She is nothing compared to this.  _

_ Far above the color is entirely blood and she thinks it will drip soon to stain her white clothes. Yet for all that she knows this is a place of fear, she is not entirely afraid. She has never been here before, still she knows that she has. This wall exists. This life exists. Something deep in the green speaks to itself of things she cannot understand. There is excitement. There is a building sense of purpose.  _

_ When the shadow rises in the center she only watches. A form, a face she knows. His eyes are closed. The three-fold leaves twine in his gold dusted hair, caress his shoulders. There is a vine wrapped around his throat.   _

_ But when he speaks, cradled in the green, it is the Lady's voice.  _

_ "Remember your roots." _

She wakes and the words are in her mind, a point of acid sweetness on the tip of her tongue. 

Unsettled, she slides out of the warm bed. It was only a dream. She has those sometimes and they are often of apples or of dancing or sometimes even of running. She has never dreamt of a green wall before. 

She wants then to go to Glory, to ask what it means. He will not know but she will ask anyways for she knows the sound of his voice alone is often enough to ease confusion. She tries the door without hope though. It is always locked now and it remains so under her touch, unflinching. She pushes back her sleep-tangled hair and scowls at it but she would have been surprised had it opened. She is unsure and does not like it. Being uncertain is for everyone else. She bites her lip and wonders if perhaps this time she can be permitted to be less than polite. She does not want to stay here alone, not with the whispering she can almost hear. 

Today is the day she is supposed to set the bushes on fire outside the Arbiter's window, to make him angry enough to start making yet more mistakes. She is, after all, very good at making people angry. Why is she dreaming of leaves that are speaking in words she cannot understand? Plants have no voices. They just are. 

Yet as she stands there in her bare feet, she remembers out of sleep that she cannot go. Not even if the door was as wide open as sunlight without guards to watch where she moves, where they all move. It is only... habit that has her thinking of him, without a compulsion to drive it. She is no longer welcome. They are no longer friends. He will not care that she is upset over a dream. 

She made him very, very angry and he forgot as she intended. He forgot more than she intended. 

Back to the beginning. Back to the start, back to the first and only rule that she cannot ignore, circumvent, slide around. 

She stares at the closed door.

Remember your roots.


End file.
